


Schneekugel

by Shachaai



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christmas nonsense, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 19:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19730578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shachaai/pseuds/Shachaai
Summary: The little gifts can sometimes mean the most.





	Schneekugel

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted from my tumblr.

The snowglobe comes in a box wrapped with silver paper decorated with tiny snowflakes and glitter-lined maple leaves, tied with a bow. Prussia loudly - and insincerely, if the slant of his grin is anything to judge by - expresses his disappointment that last year’s wrapping paper featuring cartoon beavers wearing santa hats and going about stereotypical wintery actions such as building a snowman, ice-fishing, and standing shivering in a line outside a carefully non-branded chain coffee-shop, has apparently fallen out of favour, but gets distracted when Canada’s polar bear carefully pulls out one of the laces in his boots and wanders away with it between his teeth.

Germany can still hear his brother attempting to haggle with the bear (ineffectually. Kumajirou sells his morals at a high price threshold that he refuses to disclose until an offer - for food - has surpassed it by at least five minutes) as he pulls the snowglobe out of its box, the cool weight of glass heavy in his palm.

“I didn’t know what to get you,” says Canada somewhat nervously - as he had said last year, right before Prussia replied ‘cleaning products or a nude photoshoot, your call’ and Germany had had to threaten him with an alcohol-free Christmas before his brother would recant and just _disappear from the scene_ before both Germany and Canada burst into embarrassed flames. “So, um, I thought something personal…?”

The glass sphere of the snowglobe is approximately the size of a cantaloupe in Germany’s hands, with a weighted dark green base. Inside the glass, a storm of glittering snow swirls through water with Germany’s movements, the flurry dancing prettily around a small scene made of painted models in the centre: two very stereotypically snow-covered pine trees at the back, something that looks like a very small chewed-up tennis ball at the front, and, between, the happy, panting figures of three dogs - a daschund, a hovawart, and a german shepherd.

Three very _familiar_ dogs, with the same dopey expressions on their little model faces as they wear in real-life after Germany has looked away from his paperwork and given them the belly-rubs they’d been begging him for.

 _Germany’s_ dogs: Aster, Berlitz, and Blackie.

“Holy shit, Lud.” Prussia has looked up from his negotiations - currently at three large bratwurst, two bockwurst, and a tub of polar bear-friendly ‘chocolate’ and caramel ice-cream - to gawk over in Germany and Canada’s direction, Canada gone pink and hands already flailing in mild panic. “Are you _crying?_ ”


End file.
